Crosswords
by decafisatravesty
Summary: Six letter word for George? Reaper.  George gets herself tangled in a few sticky situations and a group reap at a family reunion ends in a way nobody saw coming.  Some language.
1. Chapter 1

Crosswords

George slid into the booth at Der Wafflehouse and tried to look at anything but the little brown journal in front of Rube. She had given it a long enough glance to know that there were definitely more than five yellow post-its poking out innocently from under the cover. It seemed that everyone else at the table had the same sense of dread she had, and everyone was studiously ignoring the same thing. Daisy was perusing the obits, Roxie kept clicking the safety on her gun on and off, and Mason was paying a strange amount of attention to his fingernails. George flagged down Kiffany for some coffee, and turned her attention to Rube, who was filling in the crossword from Daisy's newspaper.

"Okay, Rube," George propped her head in her hands. Daisy gave her a "shut up if you know what's good for you" glare over the paper, but she ignored it. "Hit me with your best shot."

"Ten letter Elvis Hotel." Rube counted out the spaces with the tip of his pencil, then looked expectantly at his assembled crew.

"Heartbreak," Roxie muttered, pulling out the stock and slamming it back in. Rube nodded and penciled in the answer.

"Isn't it weird how little things can affect colors?" Mason stared at his fingernails. "I mean, I have one cigarette, and they're yellow again. Isn't that fascinating?"

"Don't be an idiot, Mason," Daisy commanded in a bored voice. George sighed. Telling Mason not to be an idiot was useless, like telling Rube not to be so mysterious, or banana bonanzas to not be delicious. The post-it notes were beginning to taunt her.

"C'mon, Rube. I have to get to work."

"Seven letter word for a sad state of affairs," Rube deflected.

"Georgia's love life," Mason supplied, snorting to himself.

"Too many letters." Rube didn't look up. George rolled her eyes at Mason.

"Bite me, Mason," she deadpanned.

"Not enough letters." Rube sighed and folded the newspaper in half.

"Just give us the freaking post-its, Rube." Roxie slammed the stock back again with a menacing click. "It's too early to deal with this shit."

"Impatience, impatience," Rube clucked, but he put the newspaper to the side of the table and opened the notebook. George counted at least twelve post-its before Rube began to distribute them. "We've all got busy days ahead of us. One for you," he plunked a note in front of Roxie. "One for you," and a post-it appeared in front of Daisy, who put aside her own newspaper. "One for you," and George collected her note. "And one for you, and don't fuck up this time." Mason picked up his note and grimaced at it.

"Awfully early in the morning, this one," he muttered, but pocketed it anyways.

"What about the rest?" Daisy pointed to the other post-its. Rube patted the page.

"Ah, this is for a special time we're all going to experience together."

"A group reap?" George sighed and put her head on the table. "I didn't think we did those."

"We do now, pumpkin," Rube responded, slowly distributing the post-its. Three landed in front of Roxie, and another two in front of each of the other reapers. "Family reunion. Dangerous times."

"Hang on." Mason held out his original post-it. "This one doesn't make sense. Third and fourth story of the Jenstone building?"

"Elevator." Roxie shoved her post-its in her pocket and pulled out her wallet.

"I love elevators," Daisy piped up. "I once did Douglas Fairbanks in an elevator. You know," she confided. "When they used to be classy. All plush and mirrors."

"Going down, anyone?" Mason quipped. Nobody laughed. George stared at her post-it. _M. Poliski, EDT: 2:15 p.m. Corner of North High and 12__th__ Street_. She'd have to leave early from work again. She'd need a good excuse again. With a groan, she folded the note in half, scooped up the other two notes, and stood up.

"We're meeting back here before the reunion," Rube instructed. "Get here an hour early so we have plenty of time in case of screw-ups." He glanced at Mason who was suddenly very interested in his post-its. "Get out there and reap."

"Right, Rube." George groaned and turned away, only to think of something mid-turn. She looked back at Rube. "And the answer is 'tragedy'." She was halfway to the door by the time Kiffany returned with her morning coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

Crosswords

Hating herself with every step, George made a beeline for Delores' desk as soon as she entered Happy Times. Just before her own cubicle, Alan from three desks over stepped in front of her, grinning.

"Morning, Milly!" He said, cheerfully waving a newspaper at her. "Got a five letter word for getting lost?"

"Fuck off," George growled and pushed past him. But as soon as she passed her desk, approaching Delores first thing in the morning suddenly seemed like a bad idea. She didn't even have a good story yet. And if she left for her 2:15 reap, she couldn't come back for work, because the other post-its had a 3:35 ETD and that gave her twenty minutes to get back to Der Wafflehouse for the pre-reunion meeting. She made sure Delores was still bent over whatever she was working on, and ducked into her desk chair. She needed a good excuse. A really good one. Doctor's appointment? That one was always tricky. Delores actually cared, so she'd have to figure out what kind of doctor, and come up with some non-life threatening reason to go. Not worth the trouble. She could say some sort of AA meeting, or some sort of bullshit like that, but then Delores would still be keeping an eye on her. Maybe if her car needed tuning up…

"Trying to figure out twenty-eight down?" George jumped. While she was trying to think up a good excuse, Delores had stopped by.

"Twenty-eight down?" She repeated, confused.

"The morning crossword, silly." Delores waved the paper at her. "Six letter famous mouse."

"Mickey?" George couldn't believe this. What the hell was up with all the crosswords? Delores pursed her lips.

"I thought about that, but then, what about Mighty Mouse?" She sighed. "I can't get thirty-two or thirty-four across yet to figure out which one." She shrugged and gave a little laugh. "But that will keep me busy busy busy all afternoon!" She started to bustle away and, good story or not, George blurted out a loud "wait!".

"Delores, speaking of the afternoon," Shit, she had no excuse ready. Shit, shit, shit. "I need to leave around 1:30?" George looked imploringly at Delores. Maybe, if she was really lucky, Delores would for once let it go at that.

"Leave early again?" Delores looked slightly disappointed. "What is it this time?"

"Um…" So much for luck. "My doctor, I mean, my car, I mean, my car's doctor…" Delores sighed.

"Milly, I think we need to have a little talk." Delores started back to her cubicle. "Follow me." Grudgingly, George grabbed her purse and followed Delores to her cubicle, sitting down in the very familiar chair across from Delores' desk as Delores arranged herself in her chair with an air of concern. "Now, Milly." A stack of papers was pushed to the side and Delores folded her hands on top of desk. "I noticed you leave Happy Times early an awful lot."

"Yeah," George admitted, trying not to meet her eyes.

"I just have a little question." Delores looked conspiratorially around, made sure nobody was listening, and leaned in towards George. "Are you…_moonlighting_?"

"Doesn't that only happen at night?"

"No, silly." Delores leaned back. "It just means a second job. Now, you leave an awful lot in the afternoon, and a second job…" This could be the excuse she needed.

"Well…" She could definitely use this. "I don't like to talk about it." Delores nodded solemnly at her and leaned in again.

"It's okay, Milly. I think I understand your position."

"You do?" George stared at her.

"Absolutely. Young, pretty girl. Needs a little extra cash."

"Jesus, Delores!" George leapt out of her seat. "I am not a prostitute!" With an unerring sense for an awkward moment, the entire Happy Times office fell silent, and what felt like a million eyes turned to stare at George. She sank back in her seat, beet read.

Delores looked shocked. "Milly, I'm not passing judgment…"

"I'm not a prostitute, Delores," George reiterated, but quieter this time.

"Well, then. What is your other job?"

"Counseling." The word was out before George could even think about where it had come from. She just wanted to get the p-word out of the discussion.

"Counseling?" Delores looked to her for elaboration, and George's mind began to race.

"Yeah, counseling," she said slowly, testing this new lie out. If she spun this right, she'd be set for excuses for quite some time. "It's actually not a second job. I mean, I don't get paid for it…" And if she worked the sympathy angle, maybe she'd get a little raise in the process. "I mean, I'd do it anyways. It's for…"

"Say no more." Delores was pulling a file out of her desk drawer. "I had a counselor of my own after my trouble with heroin." Definitely more than George wanted to know, but she took this statement like a life raft and clung to it. "And I think it's incredibly brave of you to help out those, especially after your own experiences."

"Clean for a year," George muttered. But when someone threw you a life saver on the high seas, you didn't complain about the color.

"And I think bravery like that should be rewarded." Delores smiled conspiratorially. "What's a five letter word for a little extra cash?"

"Raise?" George guessed hopefully, letting the crossword reference slide this once.

"I think she's got it." Delores penned something on a paper in the file folder in front of her. "And to show you how good I think this work is, I'd like to take you and your little group out for coffee sometime next week."

"Uh…" Sheer panic gripped George. "You really don't have to do that…"

"Nonsense!" Delores smiled. "I insist. Now, I think it's time for a little bunny to hop on back to work so she can make her 1:30 appointment this afternoon!" Delores stood up, clearly dismissing George from the cubicle. Miserable, George slunk back to her own cubicle, just in time to hear Alan ask someone else for his five letter word for getting lost. Those goddamn crosswords were everywhere. She had a four letter word for a tricky situation: shit. And another six letter word for what she was right now: fucked. But, crosswords aside, at least she had a decent excuse. And, she'd be able to make her 2:15 with M. Poliski, no problem. Now she just needed a seven letter word for a solution: Miracle. And she had a family reunion to work on that one.


	3. Chapter 3

Crosswords

_M. Poliski, EDT: 2:15 p.m. Corner of North High and 12__th__ Street_

The corner of North High and 12th Street turned out to be a bus stop. George showed up around ten after two and stood around, her arms crossed. It was a nice June day, not too hot to be obnoxious, and not cool enough to need a jacket. There weren't too many people hanging around the stop. George selected the least creepy person, a woman clutching a little purse and a shopping bag from a local deli, and asked her what time it was, and what time the next bus was coming. At two eleven, right on time, the city transit bus slowed to a stop and opened its doors with a loud hiss of air. Three or four passengers disembarked, but none of them struck George as a Poliski. It wasn't until the people loitering around the bus stop refused to move on that George got the idea that something big was going to happen. Sure enough, the passengers waiting to board didn't move. Everything seemed to pause, and then a commotion traveled to the front of the bus. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, George groaned. It figured. Her reap had to be the center of attention. Sure enough, a petite brunette in a white tank top, a black beret, and a multicolored gypsy skirt swept into view. She waited until she was down the steps before turning around. The long gauzy scarf she had wrapped around her neck swung out behind her.

"Satisfied, you rat bastard?" She asked the bus driver conversationally. "Another two twenty into your pocket."

"If you've got such a fucking problem, don't ride the fucking bus." The driver, an older man with a graying comb over, leaned wearily on the wheel.

"Tyranny. Try to save the word a little pollution and you get screwed over by the transportation system. They get you every fucking way."

"Just get out of the way so I keep this running." M. Poliski shook a fist at the driver.

"And would it kill you to arrive on time?"

"If crackpots like you wouldn't hold me up, I could keep on the fucking schedule!" M. Poliski turned to the waiting patrons.

"There you have it," she proclaimed triumphantly. "We're slaves to system. All of us! It's time to break free!" She raised a fist in the air and grinned. The show was over. George paid attention to a scabby graveling that materialized from under the bus wheels long enough to see it pull the tip of M. Pulaski's scarf along with it. This wouldn't end well. M. Poliski took up a position beside the door, lecturing the passengers getting on the bus about the dangers of giving into to "the man", her scarf in the perfect position to get tangled in the wheels.

"She does this every week," the woman with the deli bag confided to George as she joined the queue to board the bus. George nodded absently and passed by M. Poliski, walking parallel to the bus. When she reached the brunette, she attempted a smile.

"Nicely done," she managed weakly. M. Poliski smiled widely.

"Thanks. Vive le résistance, eh?" She extended a hand to George, who shook it carefully, swiping her soul at the same time. She kept walking, listening to the roar as the bus started to life. From behind her, the doors creaked shut and tires began to rumble. Over the noise of the bus pulling away, a shout rang out.

"You haven't heard the last of Madeline Polis…" The scream and accompanying thump told George that the reap had been successful. She had twenty minutes to get to Der Wafflehouse. Madeline Poliski's soul fell in step with her.

"I'm dead?"

"It would appear so."

"That bastard!" Madeline looked back at the retreating bus. "And I was finally getting a response." She looked at George. "What now?"

"Damned if I know." George shrugged. "But I can safely say you won't have to take the bus anymore."


	4. Chapter 4

Crosswords

She was only two minutes late, but everyone else was already at the booth, looking at her expectantly when she turned up.

"Strangled by a scarf under a bus wheel."

"Ooh," Mason made a face. "That's messy." He scooted a little closer to Daisy and George sat down, looking for Kiffany to flag her down for a cup of coffee.

"We don't have the time, pumpkin." Rube pulled a blue duffel bag from under the table and set it right in the middle of the table. "Know what's in this bag?"

"Is it a thousand dollars?" Mason asked hopefully.

"A thousand dollars wouldn't fill that bag," Daisy corrected. "Unless it was in something silly, like nickels. Is it dirty laundry?"

"Close," Rube smiled. He glanced at Roxy and George. "Any more guesses?"

"I hate guessing games," Roxy muttered. George just shrugged.

"I couldn't get twenty-eight down this morning. What makes you think I'll get this?"

"Tsk tsk, Georgia. You're awfully cranky."

"Just tell us what's in the bag, Rube," Roxy snapped. "I had to make up some half-assed excuse to get out of my beat this afternoon."

"Welcome to my world," George nuttered under her breath. In a flash, Roxie pulled out her gun and pointed it just inches away from George's nose.

"You care to repeat that comment?" she snarled.

"They're t-shirts," Rube said loudly, unzippering the duffel. He pulled out an orange wad of clothing and threw it at Mason. "One for each of us." He tossed one to Daisy, who unrolled it and held it up.

"The Leewood family reunion? Is this some sort of joke?"

"Noooo," Mason whined, holding up his shirt. "Not a family reunion!"

"I thought we didn't do group reaps." George stared at the shirt in her hands. The last family reunion she had been at had been with Betty and Rube, but it seemed like ages ago. Beside, they had only reaped one soul at that one. And it had been messy.

"We do now, pumpkin." Rube handed a shirt to Roxy, then pulled out his own. "I warned you knuckleheads this morning." He paused and held his shirt up to his chest. "Besides, I think orange looks good on me."

"You're joking," Roxy muttered. "Can't I just show up on a beat?"

"Nope." Rube re-zippered the duffel bag and stood up. "Too suspicious. Now, if I'm not taking up too much of your precious time, we have some souls to collect."

The Leewood family reunion was being held at a park about twenty minutes from Der Wafflehaus. The car ride over had been excruciating, with Rube whistling cheerfully behind the wheel of the van they had hijacked from a used car lot. When they pulled up to the park, George's heart sank. At least a hundred people, all clad in the same orange shirts, milled around. People were playing Frisbee on a green patch, grilling by a pavilion, standing in groups chatting. With so many people, they'd be lucky if they found their reaps in time. George checked her post-its again. There were two of them: _J. R. Leewood, ETD: 3:35 p.m. North Shore Park _and _T.J. Leewood, ETD: 3:35 p.m. North Shore Park_. In their matching shirts, the reapers stood beside the van and surveyed the scene.

"It's an orange nightmare," Mason moaned, clutching his post-its.

"Okay gang," Rube ignored Mason's comment. "Divide and conquer. Look for high risk spots and find the others if you get a lead. Go to it." Miserable, the reapers crossed the street to merge with the celebrating family. George felt slightly guilty, dirty, walking towards the party. Here, the group was supposed to be enjoying a carefree day. Nothing bad was supposed to happen. Instead, by the end of the day, twelve people would be dead.

"What sort of death trap are we supposed to be looking for?" Daisy, even in the orange shirt, managed to look composed and beautiful. George just felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Not sure," she muttered, scanning the crowd. There was so much that could happen. Grills could explode, a tango line could snake across the highway and be hit by a semi, death by Frisbee. But this had to be something really big.

"Well," Daisy sighed. "Time to mingle." Smiling, she sidled up to a group of elderly family members gathered around a picnic table playing cards. George walked further into the crowd, then looked at her post-its again. The only way to go about this to ask. Screwing up her courage, George approached a woman near the buffet tables.

"Well, hi there!" The woman was middle aged, a little grey showing in her hair. George sincerely hoped she was neither J.R. nor T.J. Leewood. But there was only one way to find out.

"Hi," George murmured.

"Belle Leewood." So, she was safe. "What side of the family are you from?"

"Well, actually, I'm not related," George lied. She was so used to it all by now. A million Happy Times excuses had paid off. "I'm just here with Dan." There had to be a Dan at a reunion like this. Belle Leewood's eyes widened.

"You mean Karen and Micheal's Dan?"

"Yep," George lied cheerfully. "He said he would introduce me to people, but I lost him already." She smiled a strained smile. "All the orange." Belle Leewood continued to stare at George, a funny expression on her face.

"David," she called an older man over from the buffet. "Come here and meet…" She hesitated, and then smiled widely at George. "What was your name again, hun?"

"Betty," George lied quickly, then regretted blurting out that name.

"Betty," Belle Leewood repeated, then smiled again. The middle-aged man shuffled over with a plate of barbeque chicken. "David, this is Betty. She's here with Dan." Belle Leewood's smile changed a little. "Karen and Micheal's Dan." The middle-aged man swallowed a large mouthful of chicken, then stuck out his hand, giving George a bright, barbeque-sauce smile.

"Nice to meet you. Are you and Dan dating?"

"Well, sort of," George lied, regretting ever choosing to say she had come with Dan. Whoever this guy was, he seemed like a bad choice. The Leewood's smiled at her, a pair of grinning maniacs.

"He hasn't brought you to church yet?" Belle asked. "We're at St. Pius, right on the square?"

"Oh…"George bit her lip. "We're trying to keep it quiet right now."

"Ah." David smiled. "Gotcha." He winked at George. "We hadn't even heard about his breakup with Aaron. Did you meet Aaron at all?"

"Erin?" George fumbled for a moment, then recovered. "No, I didn't meet her." Belle and David Leewood exchanged a look George couldn't read. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to get back to her search for the J. R. and T. J. on her post-its.

"Not 'her'," Belle Leewood said finally. "Him. Aaron."

"What?" George dragged her gaze away from Rube mingling at the horseshoe pit to stare at Belle Leewood.

"Sweety," Belle pulled a concerned face. Her tone and look reminded her so much of Delores, right when she was about to tell her something terrible and awkward. "Dan's gay." There was a huge moment of silence as George mentally traced how she had gotten herself into this fucked up situation. She tried to fake surprise.

"Oh…oh! That Aaron!" George's teeth clenched as she smiled broadly at the Leewoods. "We don't talk about that anymore." Belle Leewood studied George for a long moment, and, to George's horror, allowed her face to crumple into a sob.

"We were,"she sniffled. "We were so hoping he would find a nice young lady and settle down!" In a horrifying Delores-like motion, Belle Leewood wrapped both of her arms around George and squeezed, sniffling into her ear.

"That's…nice." Awkwardly, George patted Belle on her back. "Uh, just…just don't spread this around? Okay?" Belle finally let go and shuffled back a little, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled napkin. "I mean, it's just that Dan wants to make the announcement later." From behind Belle, David Leewood nodded sagely to her and wandered back over to the buffet table, the drama unfolding clearly not enough to keep him occupied. Belle, however, was still sniffling. "Um," George stole a quick glance at the crumpled post-its in her hands. J.R. and T.J. "Dan told me I have to meet T.J., but I wasn't really paying attention to where he was pointing." Belle Leewood was wiping the tears from her face with an orange sleeve, nodded at George's lie.

"That would be Terry. He's over there with the boys." She pointed at a spot behind George and, before George coud turn and look, had her wrapped in a tight hug. "Honey, when this all works out," she sniffled in George's ear. "Come by St. Paul's church and we'll hold a pot-luck for you." George tried not wince as Belle sobbed loudly in her ear. "I'm just happy Dan found such a nice young lady." Awkwardly, George nodded and carefully tried to untangle herself from Belle's embrace. The older woman nodded and walked back towards her husband and the buffet table, giving George the chance to turn around and look at where T.J. Leewood was.


End file.
